The Skeleton of New York City
by The-Ghost-Who-Bleeds
Summary: Erik Laurent flees to New York after a job goes wrong in London. After trying and failing miserably to escape his past, he works his way up in the criminal world and becomes even more notorious than his mentor, until a certain little songbird changes his view on everything. Modern day A/U. (E/C)
1. Chapter 1

**Hi there, this is The-Ghost-Who-Bleeds! I'll be updating this story weekly, so long as daily life doesn't get in my way too much, and I hope that you enjoy where it takes you! I would love love LOVE for you guys to leave your thoughts and opinions on this story, reviews keep me going and I know where you guys want the story to go as well! As usual, all rights go to Gaston Leroux and everyone else who has a claim in the wonderful original. A handful of characters belong to me but the rest (Erik, Christine etc) do not.**

 **Anyway, without further ado, enjoy!**

 **~oOo~**

 _ **November, 2007:**_

November in New York was an odd array of weather. Recently, the sun had warmed the criss-cross of streets, harbouring off a cold spell that Erik was sure would set in soon. He had rather enjoyed the mild weather as he went about his day but now, a bitter wind had crept up on him and burrowed through his clothes. Erik braced himself against the barrage, remaining where he stood with his hand resting on the thick, steel barrier in front of him. Tilting his head upwards, he gazed through the sweeping steel cables of the Brooklyn Bridge and admired his surroundings. Though the sky above was an inky black, his surroundings were ablaze with light that reflected over the normally muddy waters of the Hudson. The glittering lights from the skyscrapers and buildings alongside the water's edge created an almost saccharine glow and he watched as the occasional boat left a trail of silver in its wake. And yet… His hand drew back into a fist, his flesh biting at the leather that encased it. This was a tarnished place for him now and he could not help but feel thoroughly disappointed in himself. A place that he had long admired from afar, from its majestic limestone, neo-gothic arches to its intricate web of thick steel cables as well as carnage of the roads that ran along its belly. He had scoured many blueprints of this particular bridge, had always appreciated its long construction and determination that went into the build. Now it was unlikely that he could ever return to it.

Erik peered over into the dancing ripples of the Hudson, wondering if he had done a good enough job. It was one thing to impress Sam, let alone the one he had to answer to. Impress Sam, you impress Howie and although he knew he had done well, the anxiety he kept at bay for so long had started to creep back up on him. He had never had this in London. He had always been self-assured with his work, satisfied even to a point he grew arrogant with his employers. What a mistake that had been. With one last long, forlorn gaze, Erik stepped away from the barrier, mentally preparing himself for his long trek back to his small abode, where the existence of the busy life melted away completely. As he turned to walk, his phone buzzed against his breast and an irritating little tone followed it, one he had still not worked out how to silence. He really wished he hadn't allowed Darius to set up his phone. Pulling it out of his pocket as he walked, he glanced at the screen to see if it was any one of importance or if it was someone he could ignore. With a grimace, he swiped right to answer and held the cold device to his barely revealed ear.

"Yes?"

 _"A hello would be a nice way to start off a conversation, Erik. Come on, I thought I taught you better."_

Erik rolled his eyes, biting back his immature tongue lest he say something he'd regret. "Hello, Sam."

 _"_ _There, was that so hard? How you feeling?"_ The thick, Bronx accent sounded funny through his electronic device and Erik smiled.

"Fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

 _"_ _Oh you know_ _…_ _Various reasons."_

Erik found himself shrugging to no one. He thought it a morbid achievement to have grown used to the sight of corpses at the age of twenty-two. This was not something he decided to tell Sam. "I am fine. Really."

 _"_ _Ok, well_ _…_ _Anyway I was ringing to say that I think you should hang out in the den for a bit. Long days like this are stressful."_

His stomach rolled at the thought of the den. It was a subterranean cellar of sorts, an old disused crapshoot den that had belonged to Sam's grandfather back in the 50's. Now it was used as a safe house, a place that lacked any inspiration or natural light that did no good for Erik's fragile state of mind. His anxiety went haywire in that wretched place, with little to distract him bar an old, badly tuned piano and his iPod.

"Oh come on, really?" He found himself saying, thrusting his other hand moodily into his pocket. It was the only act of defiance he could show, even if Sam couldn't see.

 _"_ _Hey, it's not that bad. Listen, come to the Central Park on Wednesday at eleven. It's a great day for a catch up."_

Before Erik could splutter a word of protest, the line went dead and Sam had gone. With an irritated sigh, Erik turned his phone off and dropped it back into his pocket. He did not want to be contacted anymore tonight. The hint was clear in Sam's message that he shouldn't contact anyone until Wednesday anyway, after hearing the secret code in that last sentence. He knew that he'd be meeting Howie on his own, probably for a catch up on how things were going or maybe, Howie had a job for him. He wouldn't find out until then. With his eyes fixed on the path ahead, he set off in a brisk walk sticking well to the left, avoiding the cycle lane lest some irritated, jumped up lackey whizzed past on their bike. A couple passed him, merry and inebriated but did not seem to notice the man that had melted into the shadows and that is what Erik loved about his new home. He had ceased to exist.

It took a while but at last he was walking alongside the railings that encased the botanic garden, a marvellous sanctuary of peace that he found soothed his troubled mind. He had spent many an hour overlooking the peaceful Japanese Hill-and-Pond garden, with its lobster red Shinto shrine that somehow managed to look simultaneously out of place and yet blended in with its surroundings. It was in spring, when the dappled light filtered through the various trees of the Japanese maples and white pine, that he had admired it the most. But, that had been at a time when he was ready to start new beginnings, to not fall into the trap of the person he used to be. He clenched his teeth as he thought how quickly he had fallen into bad habits like a misbehaving child and carried on pounding the streets, quickly forgetting the sanctuary he had made his.

Instead he turned left down a street filled with red bricked houses tattooed with graffiti and fenced off land hiding nothing but rubble. It was down this street that a shuttered, squat building sat with a local artists tag already scrawled across the corrugated metal. That had irked Erik, but what could he do about it? At least they thought it was abandoned. This was where the safe house was, not in the building but below it. He quickly unlocked the padlock, heaved the door open so that he could slip in quickly and slammed it back down shut, making sure that all five inside locks were heavily secure. It had been a while since he had been here and the smell was a mixture of damp and Darius's cheap cologne, who had probably been here to stock up for Erik's arrival. Though quite squat, the room was large enough to encase a large, cage elevator that plunged down four floors to the safe den and Erik wrenched the shuttered door open. It was such a stiff old thing that it took several minutes for him to pull it back shut again before he could descend down into the coldness and he subconsciously found himself digging his hands further down into his pockets.

Finally, the safe house appeared, a large cavernous room with only two exits, the one he had just come down and the other being hidden behind the enormous, oak bookshelf. When Erik had first discovered this cliché means of escape, he had laughed until his belly hurt and wondered what sort of a mess he had gotten himself into now. Now, as he stepped into the living room, he eyed the bookshelf with scorn as he peeled his gloves off and slapped them onto the small kitchenette counter. It was equipped well enough, with a small fridge and cupboards stocked with dry and tinned food that he could heat up in the world's worst microwave that sat in the corner, with its industrial strength radiation that Erik swore gave him a headache every time he used the damn machine. Luckily for him, that wasn't very often. He had never really had much of an appetite. A quick search revealed that Darius had cleaned the fridge bare of any alcoholic substance, something Erik cursed him for, so instead he settled for a glass of water that he sipped at gently as he put his phone on charge. Two doors on either side of the room led into a small, basic bathroom and the other contained a single bed with a side table, lamp and a narrow wardrobe. He didn't have to check if his clothes were in there for he knew Darius would've brought some along with him. There was sofa bed in the main room, it was a dowdy grey thing that sat square in front of a box like telly with a scattering of channels, though the signal was so weak down here Erik wondered why they even bothered. His main source of entertainment were the books he had scoured through hundreds of times and, of course, the piano that sat flush against the far side of the room. He was delighted to see that Sam had listened to his requests and had left a large stack of paper with an array of pens for him to write down any compositions he should happen to come up with whilst in his isolation. Removing his coat and scarf, he sat down at the piano and continued to tune it before he was happy to play without stopping. It would be a long few days down here and so Erik composed, mildly aware of the anxiety that was slowly scratching at his brain and the fact that a whole city sat on top of him. He felt crushed and yet, he played.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi everyone!**

 **Thank you so much for you reviews and follows, it means a lot! I'm glad that so far people are enjoying this story! Todays chapter is a bit longer, exploring two of this stories characters in a bit more detail. I hope you enjoy! The next couple of chapters will be... Eventful.**

 **As per usual, please leave reviews on what you think of the story and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. I don't own most of the characters... Just a few!**

 **Enjoy :)**

 **~oOo~**

Howard Rooker owned an apartment in the Upper East Side of New York City. In fact, he owned several but this was his favourite sanctuary, a 3,250 square foot, two floored modern apartment overlooking a tangle of buildings. It was smart, sophisticated and clean in the sense that the maid cleaned it every Tuesday and Thursday. It was clean in the sense that the surfaces remained polished, the rugs hoovered, the bed sheets washed and changed. Yet every cent, nickel, dime and dollar that had been invested into this apartment had been covered in blood. From the murders Howard had committed in his younger years to the financial gain of owning the biggest drug cartel in New York, he was quite literally living in filth. Yet this filth was something that he had worked hard for, it was justified in his head that he deserved to live like a King and so, he did.

This was what he always thought about when he stood on one of his private terraces, taking in the commanding view of the city skyline. With an instant coffee in one hand and the other pocketed into his charcoal coloured dressing gown, Howard gazed at the city he called his. He wondered vaguely how many lives he had ruined or how many people in his radius were using drugs they bought off of his men. When he was younger, this was a thought that put a smile on his face and made his eyes alight. Now, he had grown bored of the idea and this worried him. Howard Rooker may have been filthy rich, but he was also going soft.

He tipped the dregs of his coffee over the balcony, disturbing a flock of bedraggled pigeons that had been roosting underneath and turned back into the open floor living room. It was swathe of grey, white and black, with hints of gold and slashes of iridescent copper that came in the form of the ceiling lights dangling above him. It was his favourite room in the whole apartment, one that he shared with no one but his troubling thoughts. Howard placed his mug on the white quartzite countertop in the kitchen and ran a hand through his shoulder length silver hair, wondering why his mind was playing up on him. He knew eventually that he'd have to pass his empire over to someone else, someone that he could trust with his life. With no sons or daughters to call his own, his only relative was his distant brother that lived in Arizona. A man who he hadn't spoken to in ten years. A wife was an anomaly to him, of course he had had lovers in the past but they were flings that meant nothing to him. So who the hell could he leave it all to? There was Sam, of course, but he couldn't pass his baby over to a man who acted cool yet was paranoid that he was being followed all the time. Sam thought he hid it well but Howard could read him like a well turned book. No, he was good for carrying out his dirty work but anything extra would be suicide for Howards hard earned money. A handful of men popped into his mind, Musaf or Darius perhaps, but they both still had a lot of work to do to prove their worth to him. Too much work in fact, especially since the debacle with Tyreese's men that had left four dead and Tyreese swearing vengeance on the Rooker cartel. Idiots. Howard rubbed his face roughly with his hand, digging into the corner of his eye so that he could remove the sleep that lingered there. It was when he pinched the bridge of nose that he suddenly remembered the man he had completely forgotten about, the man he was supposed to meeting today and Howard found himself laughing at his own stupidity.

Erik. Now there was a man that showed promise. Howard had never come across a man who was so sharp witted and naturally talented. He was ghostly, with that black mask of his that hid all emotion and made him impossible to read and yet that was what he liked the most about him. You never knew when he was about to strike. He was deadly. Indeed, this had already be proven to Howard and backed up by the extensive record of jobs Erik had carried out in London at the mere age of nineteen. Ah, but there was the crux in the matter. Erik was so young, still a little immature and sure headed that arrogance came to play, arrogance that could be suicide for such a natural. Yes, Erik was a possibility but Howard needed to work on his work ethic and besides, he didn't trust him completely yet for there was something dark about the boy that he just couldn't put his finger on. A test today, perhaps, would prove to Howard if this was the man to pass everything down to. Howard conjured up a plan as he changed for the day ahead and it was only when the intercom trilled that he was drawn from his thoughts. With a disgruntled sigh, he paced down the stairs as he knotted his navy blue tie and stabbed the 'accept' button on the machine.

"Yes?" He barked into the intercom. It was the one piece of technology he hated more than anything else, it was such an ugly thing that marred his beautifully decorated home.

" _Sorry Sir, but a Mr and Miss Day are here to see you_." Said the crackling voice of the concierge Carol Schmidt. Howard smiled into the intercom.

"Tell them to wait in the lobby, I'll be ten minutes. Thank you Carol." He turned the intercom off before she had a chance to reply. With a smile playing over his thin lips, Howard reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he came across Sam's name. The phone dialled four times before it connected and Howard held the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he pulled on his black Erskine gloves and slipped his feet into his leather brogues.

" _Yes Sir_?" Came Sam's voice from the phone.

"Sam, drop anything you were supposed to do today and hand it over to Musaf. There is something that I need you to do."

~oOo~

Erik awoke at 7:30 in the morning with a cramp in his left hand. That was his own fault for writing music into the early hours of the morning but it was not the cramp that had stirred him from his heavy sleep, instead it was the harsh vibrating of his phone that sat adjacent to his head on the bedside table. On and on it went, until he found himself reaching for it in a daze and placed it against his ear.

"Hello?" He mumbled, but grew confused when no one answered the other side. He blinked heavily, holding the phone out at a distance and realised that no one was calling him. It was his alarm demanding to be switched off, telling him that he must get up for the day. He lobbed it across the room. "Piss off." He murmured sleepily, feeling his eyelids grow heavy again. When the phone did not silence itself, he let out a loud groan and rolled out of his bed, kicked the phone even further across the concrete floor and padded into the small washroom, slamming the door shut behind him. He did not bother with the lock and was confused why there even was a lock in the first place when this little cellar was only meant for one person.

Erik ran the faucet until the water was icy cold and splashed his face gingerly, cringing at the sting he felt before pausing. The contact had released a sudden tingling in his marred cheek, so slowly, he raised his head and chanced a look in the small cabinet mirror that stood before him. It had been a while since he had looked at his face and it all it did was bring back a tumult of horrid memories, ones that he had kept locked away in his prison like brain. The scarring had affected the right side of his face the most, curling up into his hairline and round his eyebrow, rippling across his cheek and had flattened part of his nostril down. It snaked down his chin, narrowly avoiding his lips, channelled its way down his neck until it stopped at the ridge of his collarbone. Less extensive scarring still carried on down his arm and below his ribcage, but the peppering of small scars on his forearms had been of his own doing.

Though he wanted to tear himself away from the mirror, he found himself transfixed by his own reflection, as if it was something he had never seen before. Without realising, his breath got shallower, quicker and the lights seemed to dim around him though that was impossible. His long fingers curled around the basin squeezing the ceramic tight that his knuckles blemished white against his already pale skin and everything around him seemed compressed and heavy. It was as if he was bound to the sink, glued to the spot and he all to clearly felt the weight of the solid earth above him. The anxiety that had be niggling away at his brain suddenly pierced through his mental barrier and sweat prickled on his brow as he looked up at the ceiling. Everything reminded him to much of the cellar in his childhood, of the darkness and cold, the suffocation he felt when his step father locked him in a compartment no bigger than a coal shed when Erik misbehaved. With his throat constricting, he reeled on the spot, forcing his knees to lock in place so that they didn't buckle beneath him.

"What the hell, Erik…" He breathed to himself, focusing on bringing his heart rate down. He felt it, loud and sure, thrumming against his chest. He'd forgotten that he even had one, was surprised that it was still beating. An episode like this hadn't happened in a while and he cursed, shutting his eyes tighter as old voices he thought had been forgotten came back to him and faces he had tried to erase soon swam back into vision.

"No. Go away." He spat to his step fathers emotionless face.

" _You will never be able to escape me, Erik. You do know that, right_?" His step father's voice whispered through him.

"Go. Away." But it didn't. The face remained with its horrible, detached voice.

" _Look at you. You're so ugly Erik. How could your mother possibly love you now? I am the only one she loves."_ Erik found himself looking in the mirror at his reflection again, and brushed a finger against the scarring, grimacing at is texture and grew hot with rage.

"You ruined my life!" He screamed. The voice merely laughed. Faster and faster his heart beat went, his breath erratic, malicious taunts racing through his head and before he could even think, he was pulling back his arm and thrusting his fist into the mirror, shattering it instantly. Slices of glass rained down on to the floor, the voices stopped and the world had stopped caving in around him. For a while, Erik remained in the same position with his fist oozing thick, crimson blood that marred the delicate white of the basin. With a controlled sigh, he slowly regained his cold, calculating mind and pushed away his anxieties, meticulously locking them away one by one.

"Bastard." He spat, washing his bloody hand under the tap before wrapping it in a beige coloured towel that had been hanging crisply on the rail beside him. "Absolute bloody bastard." After toeing the pieces of glass against the wall, Erik stormed out of the bathroom and located the bandages. Once he had finally bandaged his hand properly, after three attempts and one savage smash of the first aid kit against the countertop, Erik drew in a deeply frustrated sigh. His body was still prickling with sweat and though his breath had regained some steadiness he still felt incredibly on edge. It did not take him long to get changed, probably with the pressing knowledge that he'd be late for his meeting if he didn't leave soon. With a final flourish, Erik zipped up his black parka jacket, tucked his scarf into his coat and swiped up his phone that he found in the middle of the living room floor. He made sure his mask was secure and with one last distasteful glance around the room, he got in the lift and made his way up to the surface.

The fresh air that rushed to meet him was perhaps the best feeling he had all week, even if it was a mixture of grime and city fumes. All he knew was that he was glad to be out of that hell hole and soon he was setting off for Central Park with his long, spidery gait. He'd be late but not by much… He just only hoped that Howie had an easy job for him, no murders or jobs on the sly. Erik knew without a doubt that it would not take much for his anxiety to be triggered again today and that was something that he did not want Howie to see. In his jumped up state, he stormed across the Brooklyn Bridge, the wind ruffling through his hair. Perhaps if he had been calmer that day, he would've noticed a few different things.

Like, for example, that his was not the only shadow that had decided to follow him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Two days early for you! Only because I have a heck of week coming up and know writing time will be sparse... So here is the next chapter for you lovely people. Thank you for the reviews guys, and to E.M.K.81, we can only wait and see! I really appreciate your thoughts. Please continue to leave them, it means a lot.**

 ****Please be warned, there is some strong language in this chapter**. As usual, all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc and I do not own some of the characters, only a mere handful are mine.**

 **And so, without further ado, the third chapter.**

 **~oOo~**

Gustave Day was a judicious man. He did things by the book, followed the rules but not necessarily when it came to making friends. This was clear when he regularly left his twelve-year-old daughter in the care of his oldest friend, his brother in arms. A man notorious for his crimes in the underworld, for the blood on his hands. Yes, he knew the sort of crimes Howard had committed, had worked alongside him once upon a time, but then Christine came along. She only complicated things, made his work impossible and so he left, trying his best to stay out of Howard's business. Not that he didn't trust him, it was just the people that Howard had upset that he didn't trust. But when it got to a point that Gustave had no other choice to turn to Howard Rooker for help, he'd leave his daughter in his company and that was quickly becoming a regular thing. Not that Howard minded, he quite enjoyed their company. Especially when he got to see his little Christine, a girl he had known since she was born and a girl he'd risk his life for.

Howard Rooker greeted his old friends in the lobby, the only other person present was Carol Schmidt sitting timidly behind her desk, tapping away discreetly on her keyboard. She was a shy, forty-three-year-old woman with a blunt bob hair cut the colour of muddy water. She saw all and said nothing. That's what Howard Rooker liked about her.

"Thank you for looking after my guests, Carol." He smiled warmly. She didn't get a chance to reply as Howard ushered the awaiting pair out onto the streets.

"It's been a while, Gus. You're not hiding from me, are you?" Gustave merely shrugged.

"Life takes over." He said quietly, watching as Howard scooped the little girl into his arms.

"And how is my precious little Christine?" He asked, pulling back to study her serious, reserved face. She looked just like her mother, with those hauntingly beautiful eyes that pulled you in and chewed you up, eyes that saw everything. They matched the stormy blue of her coat, with flecks of indigo that caught the light and made her eyes appear deeper than any ocean. He could tell she was reading him now.

"Fine, thanks." She murmured, pulling back a smile. She was not happy that her father had broken yet another promise today and was not ready to show warmth to anyone.

"So serious." He smirked, chucking her under the chin. Christine bit her tongue in annoyance but said nothing. She remained unsmiling, pulled her chin away and started to walk down the street, kicking the leaves out her way. "What have you done now, Gus?" Asked Howard as he buried his hands into his pockets. The two men set off after her in a slow, steady pace.

"I promised we'd spend the day together but… Work has a way of interfering with things." He grimaced, offering a soft shrug as he did so. "She'll get over her sulk eventually." Howard laughed.

"Not the easy teenager you were hoping for, hey?"

"Not a teenager yet." Gustave reminded him sternly.

"You'll have to let go of her one day, Gus." Howie murmured back, softly. Gustave didn't reply as they crossed the street, watching his daughter with unprecedented love. He never wanted to let go of her, but demons had a way of haunting him. He feared that one day, they'd catch up and he'd lose his girl forever.

It wasn't long until the trio reached the edge of Central Park after battling through the throng of people on their daily routine and Gustave parted ways with his daughter.

"Be a good girl for Uncle Howie." Was all he said, brushing the hair out of eyes before kissing her forehead.

"I'm always good." She replied, albeit a little sulkily as she waved her father off. Soon, Gustave was out of view and Howard led her through the park to Conservatory Water.

Central Park in November was a glorious sight, especially with a cloudless sky and the sun shining through the scattered leaves of the trees. A dappled pathway awaited them and Howie took Christine by the hand, beseeching her to look up instead of down and they enjoyed the autumnal colours that danced overhead. Slabs of grey rock erupted out of the ground, smoothing down to the edge of the grass and instead of the continuous roar of traffic, the sound of bird song surrounded them. It was a wonderful hub of nature, a patch of manufactured land in a jungle of concrete and glass. When they passed by Central Park Zoo, Howard could feel Christine tugging on his sleeve to try and steer him into its entrance but he carried on walking.

"No zoo today?" She said sweetly, trying to beguile him with her pretty eyes.

"Not today, Christine."

It wasn't long until they reached their destination and Howard was pleased to see that Erik was already there, watching the boats as they drifted across the surface of the water.

"Christine, I have a confession to make." He said quietly, stopping their walk before they got any nearer. The young girl stared up at him confusion until realisation set in.

"Not you as well." She muttered, pulling her hand from his grip.

"My darling little girl, I don't have a choice. I received a call a few moments before you and your father arrived. I am afraid it is a business meeting that I cannot miss. I did not want to stress your father, so I had something arranged."

"You're just like him." Was all Christine replied, biting the inside of her bottom lip. She was fed up of being passed over from one person to another. Howard sighed and withdrew his wallet from his inside pocket, taking out his credit card.

"Listen, I'll make a deal with you." He waved the card in front of her face, "You're very aware that I make business propositions, right?" Christine nodded sullenly. "Well let's make a deal. I leave you for three hours max with this… Friend, and I'll leave you my credit card. I've written the pin down, see? Now I want you to memorise that and destroy it, okay? Christine, you can use this to your hearts delight. Go shopping. Buy what you want." Her eyes sparkled with delight and she reached for the card, only to have Howard snatch it back.

"Ah ah ah… Young lady, you need to hear my end of this deal. I give you this credit card, you don't tell your father that I left you alone for three hours. Is that a deal?" Christine bit her lip in thought, going through all the possible benefits of having his card and remembered the beautiful red scarf she had seen in a shop window display. She had also seen the price and wept but if she had his card…

"Deal." She said, sticking out her hand. Howard laughed and took it, shaking it vigorously.

"I'll make a business woman out of you yet, Christine. You know when to agree to a good deal." He led them down to the water where Erik still stood almost transfixed by the model boats.

"Erik!" He called, waving his hand. Erik looked up, his hands remaining in his pockets as stared at Howard, then at the little girl at his side. Christine felt her heart quicken and tightened her grip on Howard's hand.

"Oh my God, Uncle." She said, staring at the masked man that looked at them in suspicion. "You've gone mad."

~oOo~

Without the heavy sheet of cloud obscuring the sun, a bitter chill had set in and Erik felt it seep through his flimsy coat. Lucky for him, he was hot from his fast paced walk and his heat warded off the cold but he made a mental note to buy a new, warmer coat when he had the proper funds. His mask was uncomfortable and slick to his face with sweat, his hand throbbed painfully and the cold had a way of making his joints bite together. He was irritated at how this day had played out already but he took a long, controlled breath and waited by the edge of the water. Erik was certain that he had never walked so fast in his life and he could certainly feel the strain in his long, sinewy limbs.

He didn't know why he bothered rushing. Howard was nowhere to be seen. With a laboured sigh, he waited by the edge of the water, taking the chance to catch his breath and compose his temper before Howard arrived. The model boats that drifted past on the water engaged his attention and there he stayed, watching them with feigned interest as he ignored the rattle of anger that had stirred in his brain. Then, suddenly;

"Erik!" A familiar voice called. He looked up towards the voice and saw Howard bustling towards him and yet, could he be sure it was him? For he did not know the little girl that held on to his hand, the girl that was looking at him in horror as she sunk further into Howard's side. Was he seeing an apparition, or was the girl actually there? He studied them in suspicion.

"Erik, I'm sorry we are late." Howard said heartily, letting go of her hand so he could take off his hat and slick back his hair before he placed it back on jauntily. Erik fixed him with a confused glance, before he looked back down at the wary girl. Yes, she was real. What the hell was she doing with Howard? He was certain that he didn't have any children.

"We…?" He started, before another jolt of pain erupted through his fist. With a grimace, he slid his bandaged hand out of sight and into his pocket, all too aware that the little girl was watching his every movement. He was not surprised when she suddenly piped up.

"What happened to your hand?" She asked, peering at his pocket as if she could see right through it. Howard looked at it in suspicion.

"An accident." He replied, curtly. The little girl shrank back again. "Sorry, Howie, but who is this…?" As if a cloud of thought had been waved away suddenly, Howard smiled warmly.

"Ah, of course! This is Christine, my eldest friend's daughter. Christine, this is Erik, the friend I was talking about." Friend? What on earth was Howie on about? It seemed as if Christine thought the same thing. How could her Howard be friends with this masked, gangly man?

"I see."

"You have questions, I can tell. Christine, why don't you go and play on the Alice in Wonderland statue? Uncle Howie needs to have a chat." Christine couldn't be quicker to get away as she raced off, glad to be out of their company. Both men watched after her, though Erik was still thoroughly thrown.

"Erik, what do you think I built my..." He paused for the right word, holding out his hand in thought, "Company on?" Erik shrugged.

"Underhand deals and blackmail?" He quipped, not in the mood to dance around. Howard only grinned.

"Yes… You're right but there is also the matter of trust. You know what I realised this morning as I was getting ready for the day? I realised that I hadn't put you through a trust programme yet." Erik stared at him, baffled. Sam had never mentioned anything about a bloody trust programme.

"Erik, don't get me wrong, you are naturally talented and good at what you do but… I don't trust you fully yet. Is that sure head of yours, you see? So full of arrogance. Self-assurance." Erik snorted at his words.

"What are we getting at here?" Howard gesticulated with his palms facing the sky and smiled.

"That's what I like about you, you like getting to the point. You see, I have a business meeting in half an hour. It will be dragging on for a while and I can't bring the poor girl with me, it's unsuitable and she'll be bored out of her brain. Here's where you come in." He didn't know why, but panic suddenly flustered in Erik's chest and he stared blankly at Howard.

"I want you to look after her for a few hours, until my meeting is over." The words did not sink in. Erik looked at him with a vacant gaze, then turned his attention on the little girl that was currently scrambling up the bronze mushrooms of the statue.

"Excuse me?" He bit out, the words finally having their full impact.

"Erik, I don't have family. Well… Family that are close. This little girl and her father's friendship mean everything to me, but Christine is my little gem." Howard paused for effect but Erik was too perplexed to even notice. Had he gone mad?

"So here's my trust programme for you. I want you to look after this girl and prove to me that you'd protect her with your life, as I do. If I know you can protect her and look after her, then I will trust you irrevocably." Confusion, panic and anger curled around Erik's heart like an iron grip and refused to let go, his tongue quick to lash out anything he thought. In the end, it was his anger that got the better of him and he jerked away from Howard, pissed off that he was being used for such a pointless task such as child minding. He was an intelligent, dangerous human with a dark, calculating mind. He did not look after children.

"I am not a fucking babysitter." He spat out and immediately cursed his quick tongue. An internal switch in Howard was triggered and he stared at him in utter malice, leaning in closer so that only Erik could hear him.

"Guess what, Erik. You'll be whatever I tell you to be. If I say jump, you jump. If I say kill, you kill. You need a reality check, my boy because let me tell you, you ain't shit. You're just some jumped up little punk who thinks he can play around with the big boys." He hissed, reaching into Erik's pocket as he did so. Before Erik could even react, Howard had a tight grip on Erik's injured hand and he winced in pain at the contact.

"If you want to succeed in this city, you have to make the right choices. So, Erik, I'm going to give you a one off fucking choice, okay? Choice one: If you decide that ignoring my commands is a wise thing to do then that is fine. You can walk away from here and forget that your life here exists. Because once you leave, you leave New York completely and if you ever even think of stepping foot back here, you will die." His hand constricted even more around the bandages making Erik pant in agony, sweat once again prickling his brow.

" _Choice number fucking two_. You accept my command and you go through with the trust programme. There is just one thing you need to know, you know, terms and conditions. If you agree to look after her and go through with the trust programme, then I need you to know something. Should anything happen to her, I will make your life a fucking hell. I will make sure that you are crushed so deeply into the ground that you will never be able to fucking escape it, do you understand me?" Howard seethed, veins pressing against his shiny forehead from sheer exhalation.

"Yes." Erik ground out, refusing to mutter a groan of agony as Howard delivered one more tight squeeze before withdrawing his hand from Erik's pocket. As if nothing had happened, Howard nodded and scratched his chin, waving Christine over.

"What's your decision, Erik?" Howard enquired before Christine had reached them. Erik, still broiling from the humiliation, gritted his teeth and forced a smile.

"I went through my choices and found the second to be a more preferable option." He replied dryly, refusing to acknowledge the smugness smeared across his bosses face. It was clear that Howie still had it in him to be the conceited, malicious old bastard he was known to be. The little girl bounded up, completely unaware of the tension that prickled between the two men and grasped her Uncle's hand.

"Ah, my little one. Erik is so looking forward to caring for you today, isn't that right Erik?" He said so jovially that Erik blinked at him owlishly. Did that last few minutes really just happen?

"Thrilled." He replied wryly, secretly pleased to see the flash of anger pass across Howie's face. Christine only stared at him warily, visibly wilting as Howard detached his hand from hers to roll back the sleeve of his coat and check his wristwatch. It was a Breguet with a brown, crocodile strap and yellow gold casing, a china white face glaring like a blind eye at Erik through its glass protectant. Erik's throat clenched just thinking of the price of that thing. It was a reminder of the amount of power Howard really had and Erik didn't like it.

"Alas, I am needed now. I won't be too long, hopefully. Remember our deal, Christine." He looked at Erik. Ah, but the humour had worn off long ago, Erik could see, as his eyes glinted cold with fury. "I'll give you a ring when I'm available." He told him curtly and just like that, he was walking off, leaving the unlikely pair standing awkwardly next to the water.

"What deal?" Erik asked eventually, staring down at the kid with ruddy cheeks from running. Christine withdrew the credit card from her pocket and waved it at Erik.

"Uncle Howie said I can buy whatever I want so long as I don't tell daddy he left me with a strange man."

"Right." She was staring at him in again, most likely at the mask that covered most of his features and he sighed. "Let me guess, you're wondering why I'm wearing this?" He gestured to the mask.

"I was curious, yes."

"Because it is a necessity I cannot live without. Here is your first rule, do not ask, touch or even dare take my mask off, are we understood?" Erik said sternly, flinching inwardly at the girl's fear that shone plain on her face.

"Listen kid, we've both been put in a situation here. I don't like it as much as you do. So if this is going to work, you need to listen to me. The second rule is that you never leave my side or go out of my sight, or run off because you've seen something pretty in a shop window. Is that understood?"

"Crystal." The little tremble in her voice was enough to make Erik curse the lord in heaven before he knelt down to her level.

"I am not going to hurt you, Christine. I am here to look after you. I know I'm just a stranger but…" He held out his undamaged hand for her to take. "Let's make a proper introduction. My name is Erik Laurent. I am twenty-two and I like…" The thoughts rallied through his head:

 _T_ _hink, Erik, you can't tell her that you like killing people for a living. Oh hello, Christine, your uncle left you in the hands of maniac assassin with severe anxiety. That's just obscene! What else, what else?_

He finally thought of something, "I like playing piano. What about you?" She took his hand warily, so tiny in his, so warm and buzzing with life. Did she feel the scars that ruptured the base of his thumb?

"My name is Christine Day. I am twelve, thirteen in two months, and I like singing."

"Well there we go. We've now been properly introduced and if anyone asks, we are brother and sister, right?" Christine gave him a small smile and nodded, the fear dissipating slightly but Erik knew he had a long way to go to gain her trust. She made him think of another little girl he used to be so close to so many years ago. He could see her wide eyes now, that toothy smile… Erik shook his head and rubbed his eyes, now was not the time to be thinking of her. Blinking, Erik stood up and looked around, before scuffing the ground with his shoe.

"So… What do you want to do first?" She looked at him bemused, before tapping her finger against her lip as if in deep thought, a look which Erik hated to admit slightly amused him.

"I want to go shopping."

Erik pressed his lips together in a grimace, wishing now that Howard had given him a dirty job despite his already stressful morning. At least he knew how to do that with ease and enjoyed it.

"Well, then. Shopping it is."


End file.
